After so many years of skiing, and so many years of being lazy, I should have learned how to get up end get out in the morning. But no. 11 a.m. rolls around I'm stressed, frustrated and anxious to get out. I've been awake since 7:30, why am I not at least one lap in?

Boots are on, I'm out the door. I hurry to the hill. Five or six minutes of walking, and I'm clicking in. A few strides, and then a few more. Three minutes of repetitive movement, and I can literally feel the calmness, carefully wrapping itself around me like a nice, soft blanket. Was there something I was stressed, frustrated and anxious about? What? And Why?

Skitouring in the early season in Sweden is almost always beautiful. This day more so. Tärnaby, Lappland.

I went up the same track as the day before, which was partly snowed over. No moose this time, but a beautiful white hare. I decided to ski down on the other side of the mountain, because in theory, the snow should be a little better over there. After taking the first few turns, I immediately regretted my decision. But I kept going. After a little bit of struggle among bare rich and windblown ice, I got down in the glades forest. Oh so nice. As long as I kept going with reasonable speed, it was like any other day. Fast pow we call it. Soft but sort of compact.

Skiing under the lift is better before the lift has opened.

As I got further down, the forest got thicker, and the snow got thinner. I sometimes feel the skis hitting rocks. Then, all of a sudden, my right ski stops as a go along. It released, and I took a tumble. It turned out that I'd hit a rock bang on. Lucky the ski didn't split in half.

Lunchbreak and then I walked back up. I decided to go down in the slope, to be free from trees and hidden rocks to hit. The upper parts where awful, mainly due to the five years or so of neglect. After a while I hit the part where they'd cut the weeds, and again, with some speed it worked great.